


Proposition Blues

by BlueMeansStop



Series: Stone and Feather Series [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, Blood, Explicit Language, Fighting, Gangsters, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Mafia AU, Mobsters, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Smoking, injuries, mafia, mafiatale, physical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMeansStop/pseuds/BlueMeansStop
Summary: After the dockyard incident, you try and put it past you and get back to the grindstone of your life. Funny how you thought that could happen. Now you've caught the full attention of both Gaster boys, you have no idea what's in store for you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Didn’t your father say no, boys? Tsk. Hey, wow, third fic and still going. How ‘bout that? Reader’s caught the full attention of the Gaster boys but is it for the better? I’m trying something a little differently, writing and posting each chapter as I finish them, instead of writing the whole thing at once. I feel like, it’s not as big a task to accomplish. Unfortunately, that means longer wait time between chapters. But, let me know what you think.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Alcohol mention and consumption, food mention, foul language, smoking, spider based oc monster.

Staring at your reflection in the cracked mirror, you concluded you don’t want to do this. You frowned and your image echoed your dark tired eyes and mouth turned downward into a sour line. You smiled and the lines around your eyes deepened and you noted the piece of green stuck between your teeth. Running your tongue across it, you broke your staring contest and grabbed your toothbrush from the sink’s edge and rooted around for some toothpaste. You did not want to get ready for work, but here you were, doing just that.

Spitting the last of the minty paste into the sink, you washed your mouth with a quick rinse and returned to scrutinizing your appearance and the eventual camouflage you’d slip into to blend into the working force. Your hair was beginning to annoy you, having grown long and unkempt. Pulling it back to keep it from your face, you winced at trying to keep it all contained before giving up and letting it frame your face in tangled locks. You really needed to cut it but you were not about to pay someone to cut it when you had a perfectly good pair of scissors in the kitchen. You didn’t have time, of course, and tried a second time to pull your hair back, catching as much as you could and wrapped the rubber band you pulled from the morning’s newspaper around it. A few shorter locks fell out and you contemplating shaving your entire head in order to not deal with the hassle of it.

Taking a few steps backwards out of the small bathroom, you leaned out into the hall to catch the clock in your kitchen and caught sight of the time. Shit, you were running late! Shoddy hairtyle would have to do. Tucking the tail of your shirt into your trousers, you barely had to slip the remaining suspender over a shoulder, ill fitting pants too troublesome to hem before you were scooping up your threadbare coat and shoes. You dashed through the kitchen, snatching the cold buttered toast you had forgotten and made your way out the front door. You’d put your shoes on when you caught the bus. 

____________________

 

A thin trail of smoke drifted from the end of a neglected white cigarette, adding to the gauzy haze that filled the back of the robust, black car as it slinked down the busy road. Streamline, sculpted from steel it was a classic beauty outfitted with modern luxuries befitting the Gaster family name. With ash threatening to tumble and mark the sleek, black trousers, the marble boned hand pressed it with a light hiss into the ornately gilded ashtray built into the armor-protected door.

Another was lit swiftly in its absence, casting a soft orange glow in the darkened cab and shadows flickered across cracked bone. A single yellow eye light hazed with the bountifully stocked liquor narrowed at the shift in light before G blew the dwindling match out with a light wave. Nicotine stained phalanges tapped on the rich dark grain of the polished armrest as the extravagant nightlife of downtown Ebott raged on in bright, flashing lights and a cacophony of live bands.

A single broken streetlight bathed the vehicle in a stutter of darkness, allowing the monster to catch his brief reflection in the darkened window. He scratched at a faint spot of dried blood from under his chin, an easy to miss spot, dipping a finger in his scotch to help break up the speckled red until it was nothing more than a faint blush against bone. He then caught the edge of his rumbled collar of his otherwise pristine white, buttoned shirt, surmising the odd little stain that could have passed as lipstick but he was certain he’d remember that. G inwardly shrugged, too late now to worry about possibly scandalous marks.

His driver, a rather intimidating bestial monster sat hunched almost comically behind the wheel of the vehicle, his frame almost too big even with the impressive vehicles build. He tapped claws against the steering wheel, maneuvering the hulking metal car with the finesse of a surgeon, weaving through the streets and around the occasional rowdy crowd that poured from neighboring fancy restaurants and clubs.

Turning the corner, a deep mulberry building loomed ahead. Made of brick and tile, there were grandeurs windows from floor to ceiling with lavish, rich velvety curtains framing them. The glass had been treated, etched with a faint duskiness that made it impossible to see inside. The entryway was covered in a large, ornate archway carved from black marble and while people dressed in furs and suits walked in and out, there were two, very large and intimidating guards that stood on either side of the entryway, blending into the marble columns. 

“Here it is boss.” The thick, backwater accent of one who grew up under the eastern side of Oldtown was a welcoming sound amongst the overly posh. Slowing the car down, the driver pulled up to the front and set it in park, leaning his heavy girth forward on the wheel to look up at the glitzy sign in scrawling letters lit in sparkling lights. The Mauve Lagoon. Of course something so gaudy would be named that. He glanced in the rearview mirror as the skeleton finished his brandy in one quick swallow.

“Are ya sure ya want to go in? It’s not exactly the most reputable establishment.” The monster leaned back and the car shifted under the weight, his ember eyes never straying. “You want me to go in with ya? Considering, uh, who runs the joint.”

G meet his gaze stoically before he brought out the ultimate winning, lazy grin that had his driver suppressing a yawn in protest. Taking a slow, deep drag of his cigarette, he let the smoke curl from his nasal aperture and dark eye socket.

“Don’t worry your pretty little, hairy, head, Megillah.” He replied with a purposeful slow wink. A human valet in a crisp purple vest made his way toward his door, tugging on the front of it to ensure it was straight before reaching for the handle. “I’ll be fine.”

The young man opened the door form the outside, offering up a view of the violet carpet laid out and lined with black rope to keep the more common folk from crossing it. G grabbed his coat beside him and stepped out, glancing at the valet who didn’t blink an eye at him. Turning to toss his jacket over a shoulder, he bent to look inside the vehicle.

“Take the night off Meg and don’t wait up for me, _dearie_.”

With another cheery smile, he tipped the valet a hearty amount and gave a quick pat to his cheek. Kid was young and a little too weary eyed for his liking. Still, working for a place like this was a great deal better than the factories. G nodded to the two bouncers as they gave him a customary lookover but didn’t advance any further. Not that he expected them to. Being a prominent figurehead in the underground had its advantages.

Such as… he eyed a pretty redhead as they passed by him, a hand resting daintily on their companions forearm as he chatted with another man, laughing uproariously, intoxication making him beet red in the face. The redhead tipped their head toward him, tantalizing pouty lips parting in a soft upturn as wintery blue eyes roved across him. Being a monster always attracted a curious eye no matter how well integrated they were in human society. This one however was less curious and more appreciative of a handsome soul that he was rightly so. It was only a brief look between them and he trifled with the thought of abandoning his current endeavor in favor of spending his night in much more pleasant company. Then they were gone and he moved on, entering the building that fronted as a ritzy restaurant and club.

Make no mistake, it was fully and wholly a genuine, fine dinning establishment with live entertainment and a high-class patronage. The booze wasn’t so bad either, despite the depressing era they were in, it was easier to pay off the local police to turn a blind eye to the blatant alcohol consumption. The behind the scenes activities were more frightfully interesting and lucrative, flying right under the noses of the popo. Muffet was so blatantly brazen and he had to tip his hat to the spider monster’s bravado.

Bypassing the coat check and the cute Cigarette Girls dressed in short uniform skirts and peddling their wares; intending to return later to speak with a few of the more giggly ones, G ascended the wide, marble stairs to the open lobby of the club. He caught the eye of a couple of men in suits waiting to be seated and there was a brief flicker of recognition in their gazes. They offered solemn, respectful bows of their head and he gives a polite, bored nod, dismissing them without stirring any more attention.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” The slightly nasally, clipped tone of the maître d’ bent over a book of records addressed him with little care. He was a rotund, short man dressed a pressed black and white suit befitting the waiting staff with superfluous rolls of flesh that spilled out from the starched collar and strained waist belt and jacket. A perfect coif of black, oiled hair plastered to his head reflected the dim overhanging chandelier.

With an amused grin that only widened coolly when the headwaiter lofted his head and the color drained from his starchy face. He half expected the man to stumble over himself but he retained his dignity, straightening to an impressive height and waddled directly to the monster.

“Don G,” he said reverently, bowing deeply and G had to refrain from rolling his eye light at the ill informed title. He’d been called worse. “It is an absolute honor that you would grace my humble establishment with your prestigious presence.” The man straightened, snapping his fingers once and a waiter materialized at his side.

“Garçon,” he barked, “Take our esteemed guest’s jacket at once.”

“No need,” G countered before the waiter could take a step forward. “I’m not staying long. Is Muffet in house?”

There was a brief puzzled frown that crossed the maître d’ face and there was a fraction of hesitation before he continued on. “No sir.” He didn’t offer an explanation of where she might be or why he’d ask and a trickle of sweat rolled down his temple.

“Good. Then this shall be a rather eventful night for you.” He grinned again and the maître d’ laughed cautiously as if being ribbed. The man gave another snap of his fingers and the waiter took a step back, melding back and Mr. Dumser as he addressed himself, led the tall skeleton to their best seat in the house, talking insistently about, honestly, G didn’t bother to listen.

G dropped into the cushioned, plush seating, a velvety deep purple and waved away the annoying man. It was a decent area, a quiet corner but not so far away he couldn’t enjoy the view of the jazz lounge. Everywhere he looked there were subtly different shades of purples and blues, expertly decorated, no spared expenses. He he idly traced the hidden spider motif in the dark wooden table, spindly legs interlaid with crushed shell and silently judged the rest of the décor that made him feel like he was sitting inside a blueberry full of self righteous, pompous top class a-holes and not the fun kind. He recognized quite a few important people, business officials, mayoral individuals that held a lot of clout, and a whole lot of smoozers.

Muffet truly had bad taste.

____________________

 

 “You’re late.” Charlotte smirked as you tore through the back door, shrugging out of your coat with a bit of a fight. “Should have left when I did.” She goaded, nothing but friendly banter reflecting in her crystal blue eyes as you finally escaped your coat prison and tossed it over a hook.

Charlotte was a pretty gal, the kind that made heads turn with her blonde locks and blue eyes. She was a few years older than you and was probably one of the classiest dames you’d ever met. She was kind and gentle with a sincere personality that made you like her from the start, despite her penchant to act more like a big sister than a roommate. She wore a short, revealing black dress that hugged her petite frame perfectly, a stark difference between your street clothes but as a dishwasher, the rules on uniforms were a little more lax.

“I know, I know,” you answered, noting one of your shoes was still untied.

“Did you lock the door when you left?”

You gave an exasperated, “Yes,” as you glared at your roomie, but she didn’t fall for the tough look.

“Just checking. How do I look?” She gave a quick twirl, loose curls bouncing with the movement as she adjusted the small white cuffs at her wrist.

“Wretched as usual,” you tossed back.

“You’re such a cad.” Charlotte pouted, a smile toying on the edge of her red lips. She turned at her name being called as you kneeled to tie your shoe. “It’s show time, best behavior tonight.”

You gave a noncommittal grumble as she picked up her serving tray, heading out to the front. Standing up, you dusted off your knee and straightened in time to see your boss, the head maître d’ filling the doorway with his girth. A sheen of new sweat glistened in his receding hairline and he tapped his watch harshly. You got it, you were late.

“Osman called in sick, so it’s you and Lummus and I need you to bus tables tonight.” He dabbed at his brow with a white handkerchief.

Biting your tongue to keep from blurting out your why he couldn’t just call in more workers, you already knew the answer. The Lagoon may have been a fancy, rich restaurant, but it skimped on the unimportant things, like paying a proper wage or keeping an adequate staff. You’d seen your far share of revolving staff, which was why you preferred to stick to the back and out of the way. Now you were going to have do double the work for the same pay. You inwardly groaned. You hated going out there.

Dumser gave you little room to argue, having already vanished from the doorway of the back break room that doubled as storage. Coats and bags were piled atop of each other, the real staff lounge in the middle of being repainted. Someone had joked about a murder, but you were down a sous chef the next day and the joke wasn’t funny after that.

Making your way to the expansive kitchen bustling with activity, you skirted around a monster moping up a spilled mess. Men and women, human mostly you noted, slipped in and out through the serving doors, carrying empty trays in and platters of expensive plates out. Head chefs argued, one in Italian, another in French while a tall, lithe pink toned monster tried to keep the peace between them. You kept your head down, not wanting to draw attention and grabbed an apron from the pile of the freshly laundered. The starchy white material still felt warm in your hands. You were hardly dressed in the proper attire and you were certain your dingy clothes wouldn’t pass for acceptable, but the apron would cover most of it. At least your shirt was clean and as long as nobody looked at your shoes, you’d be fine.

Tiptoeing over to one of the prep lines, you slid around an azure skinned monster dressed in an immaculate white chef’s uniform. They smiled, allowing you to sneak a bite from their extra trimmings of the dragon fruit carving they were working on. You hummed appreciatively at the subtly sweet taste and finished tying your apron, folding down the edges of it over the extra length of tie you wrapped around your waist. The kitchen was hot; ovens and grills going non stop, a cook tossed a medley of vegetables into a wok on an open flame and added in a splash of sauce from a nearby container, flaring up the fire. Prep line workers moved in tandem, a Saucier working amongst them to plate food and send them on their way. Orders and requests were yelled out across the kitchen, the ice cold of the walk in freezer at your back. There was a crash of glass breaking and more yelling and you were glad to grab an empty bin and get out.

Taking a deep breath, you held it for several long seconds until you felt the tightening in your chest and exhaled harshly. You slipped out of the one of the server entrances and your senses were instantly assaulted. It was the smells that got to you first, bodies, the sour stench of body odor, the sickly sweetness of perfumes, the hazy acrid smoke. Food you could handle, even with the amalgamation of different scents, you simply categorized it as food and it wasn’t as bad, but mixed with everything, it smelled nauseating. The noise was different from the kitchen with all of its organized chaos in exchange for anarchy. The murmur and roar of people talking all at once, someone laughed shrilly and loudly over the crowd and glasses clinked together, filled with bubbly champagne. Utensils screeched across plates and mouths smacked and chewed and swallowed.

The lights overhead were dimmed in what was suppose to be a quiet, inviting manner, but it felt too much like dusk to you, making it feel like it was harder to see. It was nearly overwhelming to take in but you took another deep breath and tried not to focus too much. As a dishwasher you had one job and could do it in relative solitary, even the dockyards had its advantages with you working directly in the back. Last week had been a fluke and the gentlemanly skeleton had only crossed your mind once. You had hoped he was all right and whatever trouble he was in didn’t find it’s way back to you. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary but it’d spooked you enough to debate on returning to the part time job. The money had been good.

Heading to the closest empty table, the waiter already sweeping through to gather his tip, you grabbed barely touched plates and glasses still full of wine. What a waste. Everything went into your bin just as Lummus sidled up. Without speaking, you worked together to clear the table of the white linen tablecloth, folding it quickly to tuck away in Lummus’ bin he set down. Smoothing the material, you straightened it and balked at the placement of silverware and plates. You’d never had to set a table to completion before, something you sorely neglected to retain in your training, but you’d never expected to be out here.

Lummus moved closer as he pushed a plate a fraction further from the table’s edge. “S’okay, ah got it,” he whispered as you met the warm brown gaze. His faint accent, a mix of living in Old Town and growing up in a farming town beforehand was an endearing sound to your ears. “Dunna want Dumser’s wraith reignin’ do’on ya.” He added with a wink, lining the army of forks up with precision. “Jennah showed me.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled back, feeling the tips of your ears warm. Why did something so simple have to be so complicated? What did someone need four spoons for anyway. “I’ll drop these off and move to the next table.” He nodded and stopped at your hand on his forearm. “Show me, please?”

Lummus considered you with a cock of his head, tightly curled black hair slipping from the bun he’d tried to maintain. “Tomorrow yeah? Ah got a ruler fer ya.” His smile grew at your disquieted grunt. “S’not so bad, promise ah’ll go easy on ya.” He gave a hearty clap to your shoulder and went back to setting up the table, leaving you to move on and back to the kitchen.

Dropping off your bin, you picked another one up and headed out to bus another table, leaving it just as Lummus returned with fresh linen. You dragged the overloaded bin with you to wash, moving quickly through them. The back and forth was busy work as you found a rhythm to balance out the load, bouncing back and forth.

You headed to the bar to grab a bin of dirty dishes under the counter, replacing it with a clean one and paused to watch a singer go up on stage. It was a simple, rounded stage lined in thick, purples curtains, a single spotlight on the lone mic with the band nearly blending into the background. Shyren, you think was the monster’s name as she approached the mic, head bowed and hidden behind the curtain of muted cerulean blue hair. A small foam green orb bobbed quietly atop of her head, casting a soft halo of light above her brow as a single, soft note was hummed. It was as if a spell had been cast as a hush spread throughout the tables closest to the stage. A delicate melody followed, a simple scale that you faintly understood and only afterwards did you hear the soft tremble of a cymbal chasing after the sweet music. The cymbal stilled between weathered fingers before a piano trickled in and Shyren lifted her head, hair parting to let eerily black eyes stare unblinking out at her gathered horde ensnared by her siren song.

You moved on despite a part of you still wanting to listen and you flashed a grin at the bartender, an arachnid monster by the name of Zalo. He gave a bow of his head and a slow blink of two of his many eyes in a simple greeting. Human languages had been a struggle for him to speak, iridescent blue mandibles unable to form certain letters. He proudly spoke several Spider languages, and you struggled to tell the differences between them, but often stuck to a more common and simplistic dialect that seemed to span amongst all of the spider clans. Many of the human staff were unable to understand him, some faired better, but all with a great amount of difficulty. You were sandwiched somewhere amongst them, but you were working on it often spending time in the early mornings when the restaurant closed to talk with the monster. 

Zalo spoke little of himself, preferring to keep his life private and you respected that and your conversations often meandered between the different drinks he served and his own little concoctions he cooked up between serving drinks. Sometimes, if he was feeling friendly, he’d listen in on the local gossip amusedly and the one time he participated, he confirmed Dumser’s hair was indeed a rug.

He made for an impressive figure, jet black with the façade of a blue shimmer, the soft hair that covered his humanoid body faded into a soft grey down his arms. He had a stern, sharp look about him, easily fading into the background when needed and drew the sharpest of attentions with his appearance and skill. You figured his looks played into being hired, being something of a conversational piece to draw in the curious eye. You hated that. Zalo was a talented bartender and a hard worker, having the patience to deal with the humans who giggled and fawned over him. He treated all equally regardless of their station, status and race and he was as nice as you were to him.

The bartender stepped to the side allowing you to slip behind the massive bar and you glanced at the extensive selection of alcohols in varying sizes of bottles and chalices. A few patrons sat at the far end of the bar and Zalo tended to them as you restocked the crystal glasses and china, taking note of the dwindling supplies and told yourself to return with more limes. Shinny black shoes stepped into your field of vision from your kneeling position and you stood up to meet Zalo’s questioning look. He held up an empty glass and tapped his wrist with two fingers.

“My break?” You questioned, wanting to ensure you understood. He nodded, looking surprisingly pleased at his subtle gesture. “Another twenty minutes or so. Why?” Zalo mimed pouring a drink into the glass and pointed at you. Oh, that actually sounded good. “I might take you up on that offer. Anything new?” His enthusiastic nod made you smile back. You were definitely in for a treat. The last drink he made, some sort of chocolate mocha infused cinnamon whisky, was absolutely delicious.

“Lot of big wigs tonight,” you absently said, leaning on the bar to look over it. The place seemed unusually packed, even for a Friday night. “Something happening?”

Zalo shrugged, then added, speaking slow enough for you to follow along. “ _Not that I’m aware of_.” He nudged your arm, pulling a white towel from under your elbow to catch the few water droplets from your glasses.

You stared a moment longer, falling into a neutral expression even as your subtle distaste for the public stirred annoyingly. You hauled the bin laden with dirty dishes on your hip and ignored the sharp dig of plastic, giving you something to distract yourself again. Turning to duck back under the bar, you came face to face with your roommate.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Charlotte hissed, slim brows knitted together as she took the bin from your hands and set it on the counter, much to the annoyance of Zalo. He remained silent, though the shaking of a mixer drink intensified.

“Everything okay?” You didn’t like the harried look she was giving you.

“I need you to take over one of my tables.”

You exhaled expecting something different, the refusal already in your hunched stance. You could deal with the people as long as you didn’t have to actually interact with any of them. “Can’t you get someone else? One of the others?”

“Do you see how busy we are?” You did. “I’m really swamped with a table of twelve that just came in. And then…” She hesitated, “there’s this rowdy group.”

You instantly became sharp, standing straight and Charlotte waved you down as you scanned the tables.

“No, I’m fine, nothing lil ol’ me can’t handle.” She gave a flip of her hair before delving right back into her tactics. “Please, it’s just one guy. He’s really cute for a monster. No offense, Zee.”

Zalo huffed, mandibles clicking quietly in exasperation as he poured the colored drink out in shades of blue that lightened from the top down. Charlotte immediately looked to you for interpretation and you shrugged.

“Cute monster. Is that supposes to sway me?”

“Yes?” She batted her lashes, softening her plea with another pout. “Please. I’d do it, but I’m already working like crazy out there. Sally and Roberto called out.”

“Why do you think I’m out here? We’re down a man too.”

Charlotte sighed prettily. “Dumser will kill me if he see’s me lollygagging again.”

Your sigh was less pretty and more stubborn surrender. “You owe me.”

“My life,” quipped your roommate, now all smiles. “Or you know, whatever you make in tips.”

You gave a subtle roll of your eyes. “Deal.”

Extending your hand, Charlotte immediately shook it, adding a quick, “He’s at booth three,” before dashing off, moving gracefully through the tables and vanished into the sea of people making their way to the small dance floor. She really could make a trot in heels look elegant.

Looking back to Zalo, you offered an apologetic smile that fell flat at the glare and you hastily grabbed your bin off the counter. The glare softened fractionally as he wiped down the counter of any residual mess left behind.

“Reign check on that drink?” You asked, hopefully.

He considered you with another long look that was difficult to gauge. Zalo was an expert at being unreadable and you wished you could pick up more on the subtleness of his body language. Best thing to do was to stay on his good side and out of the way. He finally pitied you with a curt nod and your smile was genuine as you took off for the kitchen.

Dropping your bin into the dishwashing station, you peeled out of there to wash your hands thoroughly and caught your reflection in the small mirror above the sink. Your hair was starting to frizz but the rubber band was doing its job keeping it at bay. You tucked in your shirt, adjusted a suspender for the umpteenth time and made sure your apron was clean. Cleanish. Your hands were a little red from washing dishes and you could still feel the prickle of the wire scrubber for the bigger, stainless pots. Nothing you could do about that. This was as good as it was going to get.

Heading back out, you kept an eye out for your boss, skirting around a duo of more nicely dressed wait staff and made your way to the appointed table three. It was one of the more nicer tables, a booth really that was more secluded and reserved for the ritzy. Muffet really went all out for her clients, prices included. The lighting was dim and atmospheric, casting the rounded booth in soft shadows to lend to the privacy of it. You could just make out a person sitting there on the edge of the table, the halo of light providing little.

“What took you so long sweetheart?” A voice as smooth as whiskey in afternoon sunlight purred from the shadows. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

The person leaned forward and for the second time in a week, a vision of death incarnate smiled back at you. An empty socket stared unblinking like a cavernous hollow drawing your attention to the single firefly of light that danced in the other, sharp and bright and eerily predatory. Yellow like a wolf, you thought as the oddly familiar face raised a brow bone in mild surprise, tugging at the dreadful scars that looked irritated against the ivory bone. The cracked edges separated by a hair shifted and grated in a way that had you inwardly wincing.

“Well, you’re certainly not Charlotte.”

It was a strange sort of déjà vu seeing a skeleton monster again, not knowing how many there actually were in the city. Did all skeletons have similar markings? This one was more human like, his skull angular but smooth while Papyrus; you really hoped he was doing well, had been all teeth and cheekbones. You weren’t sure how you felt about the uncanny smirk that accompanied him and your curiosity of how bone moved so fluidly.

He was dressed nice, a casual nice with rumpled sleeves that looked to have been, until recently, rolled up. The permanent wrinkles in the fine material had a distinct pattern of being folded, one your own sleeves mirrored when you were working. You noted the carelessly tossed jacket over the back of the booth seating and the sharp wink of matching cuff links, silver maybe. You didn’t really know your precious metals but the quality of jacket and silk shirt screamed of money.

“No, I’m not.” You returned smoothly, making sure you sounded more amused than indifferent. If you were a jealous person, and you most certainly were not, you would have been envious of the fine looking jacket. It looked lined and warm, your own coat long overdue to being replaced. “Charlotte’s busy, I’m taking over for her.”

The single eye light roamed unimpressed, zigzagging up and down your body and face as if looking for something, gaze lingering to expressively observe your reaction before he finally conceded with a light shrug. “I’ve had worse.”

You didn’t care for the once over or the implications behind it and the false smile you specifically reserved for patrons dropped. Your mouth fell into a tight line that mirrored your deepening scowl. That earned you a delighted chuckle. “What do you want?” 

The monster gave a thoughtful pause at your sharp question as though unaccustomed to wait staff being so blunt. “You’re not very good at this. First day?”

You scoffed before dropping your head a fraction to let your gaze fall to the middle of his skull, where the gentle slope of his nasal bone tapered off into nothing. “You need a menu?”

He pointedly tapped an index finger atop of the golden embossed table d’hote menu sitting in front of him while maintaining eye contact. The perfectly circular hole through his palm allowed a planchette’s viewing of curled fingertips and the crisp gold lettering of the wine list. Sangiovese was this evening’s special. “How’s the bourbon here?”

“Watered down and expensive.”

He snorted and the dark lines under his sockets wrinkled. “You certainly are honest. Why don’t you go ahead and bring me the top shelf stuff Muffet keeps for her special guests and two glasses.”

Who the hell was this guy? You dealt with his kind of smugness before, working in the service industry you saw a lot of it and he wasn’t anything special. However, it annoyed you how easily it riled you up. If you were going to get through this evening without biting his head off, you were going to have to reign it in big time. You took a slow inhale through your nose before continuing in your server voice, just on the outside of sounding dead inside. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Maybe you can help me locate them?” He didn’t wait for your answer. “They’re about this tall.” He held out a hand, palm down and you realized he was using his own height as a measurement, coming up to his shoulder. Sitting down, however, skewed the actual comparison. “Weighs maybe a hundred and fifty pounds,” he paused to eye you. “hundred and fifty-five. Hair to about here,” he wiggled fingers at the nape of his neck. “A little unkempt but pretty enough to make up for their frowziness.” He hummed seriously. “Possibly a hot headed, temperamental youth who has yet to learn their place in the world.”

“What the f-” You were cut off as the monster kept talking.

“Goes by the name of…” He enunciated your full name deliberately slow before giving a mock look of surprise that rivaled anything Charlotte could throw out. “Speak of the devil.” The coy smugness returned. “Imagine my good fortune to find you here. I thought I’d have to stomach this place for awhile.” The flicker of disgust was brief before it was back to amused scrutiny. “I have to say, didn’t exactly picture you working the circuit. Did you miss dress rehearsal? You’re lookin’ a little frumpy and frayed there, kiddo.”

Your mouth gaped, a snappy retort frozen in your throat. There was a lot to process, your mind flying through the bare basics of who, why, what before you latched onto the easiest response first to give yourself time. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“G.” 

You stumbled at the quick response, momentarily confused if he was asking about gold or offering.

“Of course, I go by many names. Though judging from your blank stare you really don’t know how fortunate you are.” G leaned back in his seat, fair shadows obscuring all but his smile and eye light. “To keep things simple enough, you may call me G. Second only to the greater Papyrus, my dear brother.”

The markings made sense now, overlapping mirrors of one another. These two were brothers? You had to take a second, longer look at the monster, noting details you glossed over the first time. You humphed. “We have cooking sherry in the back.”

The grin G bestowed upon you was sparkling, amused and it didn’t waver in dazzling when you folded your arms, adding an extra barrier to glare down at the monster. You were sure he used that grin on a lot of people. He looked like that kind of person. The grin doubled, pulling taunt at the edges as it slipped into something more. He felt like that kind of person.

You waited to be impressed with his name, making sure you conveyed your contempt, job be damned. If this guy wanted something, you sure as hell weren’t going to give it to him.

He met your gaze and held it, waiting for you to break first and look away and you only glared back at the wolfish look. “Perhaps,” he started, sounding bored. “You’d know my Family name better. It might jog your memory.”

You really didn’t care who his family was, more than likely some snobby, rich elitist like so many here and they were a dime a dozen. And you really didn’t appreciate the way he stared at you, eye light unwavering. It made it hard to combat against when a circle of light didn’t need to blink. “There’s nothing wrong with my mem-”

“Gaster.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooo Reader, you’re in for it now. Should have bit your tongue and ponied up the booze.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Alcohol mention, language, monster racism, smoking, assault, fighting, physical violence, vomiting, blood, and injuries both Reader and background character related.

Gaster. 

It was a name that sat heavily between you, weighing you down like an anchor. The loudness of the restaurant faded into the background as your irritating and unwavering attention to detail surged forward. The world was a big place, but your ability to recall was even bigger.

An article you remembered reading sitting on the back of an old jalopy truck. You were a mere twelve years old and sour about having to be awake before the sun for work. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a fist, you swung your feet over the tailgate and squinted at the small block lettering you could just make out from the flashes of street lamps. The up rise of Families; you didn’t understand what that meant but the article listed names, Dreemurr Clan, the Triad, Gaster Family. You were sixteen when you overheard a radio broadcast. Easing the ache in your back with a twist of knuckles hauling buckets of plaster to the second floor building of a clothing shop, you stopped long enough to catch snippets. It’d been a conspiracy piece about monsters and how they were ruining the working force, the same racist rhetoric that was regurgitated daily. They repeatedly mentioned the Gasters and the Muffet Gang, taking honest jobs from hard working humans. Last week, the newspaper had the grisly murder scene splashed across the top page in macabre black and grays, the Gasters to blame for with no real evidence. A sensational headline that did little but rile the populace.

The Gaster Family?! You were well acquainted with the name as any other Ebott citizen, knowing on the reputation that surrounded the name. Criminals, thugs, killers, monsters. Snatched bits of conversation you overheard on the street, local gossip on a smoke break, the wailing of a homeless preacher claiming the end of the world on every street corner.  Every little moment cataloged, archived and fitted neatly into its own little compartment until needed. You really hated your brain.

Startled, you gripped the front of your shirt, twisting it protectively over your soul. You could feel the heavy mantra of your heart pounding in your ears as a sudden chill confusingly filled you. You barely recognized the flight or flight instinct that reared its ugly head, until you were taking a step back, eyes glued to the Monster in front of you. Your lips parted, and you faltered.

“If you don’t want to keep making a scene,” he stated, the subtle timber of his lowered voice like a purr you felt against your mind. The single yellow eye glowed like a firefly, stealing your attention to focus solely on him. “I’d advise you to sit and be quiet.”

You snapped your mouth closed with an audible click, pried your hand from your shirt and folded your arms protectively across your chest, reinforcing the barrier before painfully sinking down into the booth next to G. There was no other place, the skeleton sitting precisely in the middle. You mouth had gone dry, stubbornly trying to force words past the lump in your throat. You truthfully didn’t know G or Papyrus, but everyone knew the Gaster Family name.

G eyed you, twisting in the plush seating and a knee brushed discreetly against your own. You instinctively shifted to keep space between you and he respectfully didn’t follow. “My brother likes you.”

You leaned back, trying to work saliva back into your mouth. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, kid.” G reached for his coat, pulling out a simple silver case. “Papyrus likes everyone. And in his generosity, he wishes to offer you a job.”

He pulled a slim white cigarette free and lit it with a sweep of a matchstick on the ornate tabletop. The acrid smell of burning sulfur was brief, replaced with a clove and tobacco scent that was incrementally better. He discarded the match, leaving a faint black mark on the wood as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, the end glowing an ember orange. Smoke billowed out in soft clouds from the creased collar, curling around his skull and eye sockets and he took in your bewildered stare with a charmed smirk.

“Papyrus said you understood the Monster on the dockyards.”

That wasn’t the statement you were expecting, and it showed in the puzzled narrowing of your eyes. You hesitated to answer, a half fib already concocted, and it faltered at the intensity of the Monster’s gaze as if expecting the lie. “Yeah?” If he caught the waver in your tone, he didn’t address it.

“Do you know his species?”

Taking a moment, you surmised you’d never seen that Monster’s kind. You’d seen your fair share of water elementals but they were a whole different subspecies unto themselves, living embodiments of clean, crisp water. Using the brief moment to take a breath, you steadily regained your voice. “Can’t say that I do.”

“Think something akin to a land squid.” G caught the cigarette between his teeth and waggled phalanges like a groping white spider and you did not like how he angled them toward you. When you sent a withering glare at his hand, he dropped it but not before sliding his other arm over the backrest of the booth, skirting dangerously close to your shoulder.

You scooted further to the edge of the seat, your hip contacting the subtle piping of the plush edge. That made sense, the creature’s appearance and the odd tentacles you’d mistaken as apart from some elaborate odd crown atop his brow. The scratchy touch on your face had you suppressing a shiver at the odd, dry, itchy sensation they left behind. 

“They’re notoriously hard to decipher by human ears.”

If you didn’t know any better, G almost sounded impressed by the surprised inflection as he tipped his head to breathe out a trail of silver smoke away from you. It was most definitely monster made as the edges of the smoke curled in unprompted dizzying patterns. You ignored in the false enthuse, dragging your gaze away to look out across the restaurant, hoping someone would catch sight of you and end this encounter with a quick yell to get back to work. No such savior came.

It had been difficult to understand the water monster, remembering how the strange dueling echo voice induced a headache. You hitched a shoulder in an aborted roll to relieve the creeping sensation that crawled down your back and dropped your hands to your lap. There was no one to talk to about the incident, most certainly not your roommates, and you had did your best to forget about it. If you didn’t talk about it, it didn’t happen and you could distance yourself from it.

“Tell me,” G’s voice eased into your thoughts, drawing you back to the conversation. “What did it sound like to you?”

You watched him light another cigarette, the other already smoked down to the crumbled filter and glanced at the case, noting he made no offer. Not that you would have taken it, no matter how much your fingers itched for one. “It’s a lot like Zalo’s,” you surmised with a dismissive shrug.

“Zalo?” Raising a brow bone, G followed your directed stare to the appointed bartender. He watched with a brief, narrowed gaze as the Monster drifted back and forth behind the bar, working effortlessly as he mixed and poured drinks with an entertaining flair. He gave a polite bow of his head as patrons left with a hearty tip he swept into a pocket as he wiped down the bar top.

“Earthy, real,” you added then winced at your wording. You were terrible at trying to describe things like this. “like… the salt of the earth, something that’s always belonged, always been here? The mook at the docks had that same feeling. Old maybe.” You kept talking, hoping to get a proper answer out. It felt like you were rambling now, both of you still watching the Monster at the bar.

“Zalo’s not that hard to understand once you listen to him.” You were getting marginally better, you hoped, but nothing to toot your own horn at.

G hummed and there was that same fake amazement and you expected him to yawn at the deliberate begrudged, “That’s fairly notable for a Human.”

You went back to folding your arms out of irritation.

“My brother is going to present you with a job offer.” G turned back to you, fingers skirting your shoulder. “Perhaps some translator or something, he can be quite cunning about his offers.” His gaze darkened and the yellow flare of an eye light all but vanished. “You’re going to turn down the offer and be absurdly polite about it.” 

“What?” You whispered sharply, visibly taken aback by both the future proposal and the eeriness of your companion. “Why me?” Why on earth would Papyrus want you for anything?

“Honestly, I don’t know what Pap sees in you.” The skeleton gave a vague wave of his hand toward you, sprinkling ash in the gentle wave and smoke tumbled over itself in soft tendrils. “You hardly cut an impressive figure.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re an arrogant prick?”

The simple grin brightened. “Yes, many times, though never to my face.” He perched his chin atop of a fist, carelessly wary of the cigarette dangling between loose fingers and continued to grin, one edge curling up to tug at the scaring in fascination. Amusement flickered in the single eye socket where it had only a moment been an empty cavern. “I admit it is rather refreshing. You stuck your neck out for my brother and that means a lot to the Family. I am indebted to you.” He paused unnecessarily. “Not enough to employ you.”

“It’s fine.” You’re too quick to answer, leaving a hairsbreadth between his last word and your first. The sooner the better. You didn’t need or want to be here any longer. “You don’t owe me anything.” The fact that you could have an infamous mobster at your beck and call chilled more than intrigued you. You would not entertain the thought, you were going to backpedal right out of this conversation and get the hell out of dodge. Running was easier than facing this kind of problem and you weren’t going to sit here any longer, entertaining the Monster.

“Nonsense,” G huffed. “How can I repay you? Perhaps…” He leaned forward into your space, slinking an arm around your shoulders to draw you closer and it hooded his gaze against the sharp halo of light that skirted around his temple like a black crown. “… We can come to some arrangement.”

“What are you doing?!” A subtle panic leached into your voice at the end of your question and the hand you had curled around your bicep, still tightly folded from previous retaliation shot out to keep him at bay. You never made contact as he caught your palm before it could wisp across the front of his shirt. Instinctively you struggled to pull it back but his grip was iron strong and warm.

With a calculated ease he turned your hand up, fingers pressing just behind your thumb so you couldn’t break his grip. Could he feel how fast your pulse raced? He hummed as he glanced at you open palm. “These hands have seen a lot of work in their years. Tell me, how old are you?”

“Old enough,” you blurted out, unsure of the point he was trying to make. Your skin prickled at the touch of subtle magic and there was an odd flashback to Papyrus on the docks, gently nudging your white-knuckled fists down after the fight. There’d been magic there too, but the much flashier, orange magic of his weapon distracted you in noticing the soft murmur of his own. G had the same intent but pricklier. You spotted the splatter of red along his collar, dark coloring against pristine white and hoped it wasn’t blood.  

“Hmm,” G repeated the same listless hum as he trailed fingers up your palm still a little red from washing dishes and traced your lifeline, skipping along it. He prodded at the start of a rough callous working just below the last crease of your fingers and the nearly healed cut on your thumb. He spoke around the cigarette. “So young, yet already so world-weary. Ebott will do that.”

An ill-timed snort made its self known. You were the last person that needed to be reminded. Carefully, you pulled your hand away when G’s grip relaxed apparently finished with his assessment of your life. Refraining from rubbing it, you gingerly slid it against your thigh to ease the foreign touch of magic.

G remained half turned with his arm returned to the back of the booth to cage you in. He toyed with the edge of your shirt, plucking at the crease along your shoulder innocently enough that seemed he was wholly unaware of. The smug grin said otherwise, and you knew he was waiting for an answer. He tilted his head back just enough to release a lungful of smoke so it didn’t quite blow in your face. He pressed the spent filter onto the table, the hiss of it making your gaze flick to it and the unused ashtray.  

You would have to be extremely careful about this, no one wanted to garner bad favor from the mafia. You already knew the answer as you pretended to weigh your options, making sure you projected just enough calculation to sell it. “Thank you,” you said, mindful of your tone for once. “but no. I didn’t help Papyrus to get something out of it. I don’t need to be rewarded for being a decent person.”

The look of disappointed surprise felt wrong, and you inwardly anguished over saying the wrong thing. It wasn’t the same crestfallen look Papyrus had given you, but strange enough to feel at odds with the monster’s normal cockiness as if the thought of being turned down never occurred to him. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d been the first. His fingers stilled, weighing heavily on your shoulder but you refused to look. Instead, you looked everywhere but G and stilled when your roaming gaze caught sight of Charlotte across the way.

She held a tray full of glasses and several dark-colored bottles, balancing it with ease as she glided across the restaurant floor. She approached a table with several people crowded around it, raucous laughter and loud voices betraying the large amount of alcohol they’d had. Setting the tray down, she smiled tightly as she hastily passed drinks out as the nearest man grabbed at her dress and she skirted out of reach. Any banter; playful or harassing, lost in the restaurant’s noise and you felt the flush of anger when another rowdy man roughly pushed your friend. She stumbled and fell into a patron’s lap, eyes widening in surprise as she tried to stand, only to have groping hands pull her back.

“Excuse me,” you interrupted G, cutting short whatever he was going to say as you rose to your feet and stalked away. You stepped around a couple, nearly brushing shoulders with the man who glanced disdainfully at your brisk march and beeline to the troubled table. 

Charlotte fought to push the man’s hands away from her, fingers digging painfully into her hips. He disregarded her surprised cry as she struggled to stand.

“Leave her alone.”

Recognizing your voice and the strained low tone, she took advantage of the distraction and slipped form the drunkard’s grasp. Back on her feet, she swayed a step, and you raised a protective hand only for her to catch your sleeve. She tugged on it to pull you away, knowing the severe frown that darkened your features. She’d seen it too many times.

“It’s okay,” she said a little too quickly and looked away at your countering glare, unable to hide the bright shine of her eyes. “They were just helping me,” she explained, her grip steady on your sleeve, prepared to haul you away as you pressed toward the instigator who had his hands all over your friend.

“Yeah,” he sneered lucidly, sharing a laugh amongst his companions. “We was only helping. Ain’t that right, girly?”

Charlotte dropped her gaze, and you moved in front of her defensively.

“Ooh, helping.” You nodded, understanding with a soft shrug of your shoulders. “Okay.” Snapping your hand out, you upended a glass of liquor into his lap. “Sorry, I was just helping.”

“You, fucking little-!” The man stood, nearly tipping his chair back.  He was a good head taller than you, broad shouldered with a frame that strained against his suit’s threads. A working man. You squared up, shaking loose Charlotte’s hand to make sure she stayed back and you met the man unflinchingly. It was a different scenario than the dockyards, you pitifully excused yourself, you didn’t like to fight, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself but you’d be damned if you’d let some drunk schmuck touch someone like that.

An unfamiliar hand dropped atop of your shoulder and you reacted, already keyed up from dealing with G. Whirling around, your fist sailed before your brain could catch up and offer an alternative. It wasn’t Charlotte; you thanked the stars you knew her touch, but another man. You caught him right between the eyes and hissed at the burst of pain along your knuckles. Guy had a hard head, and you swore under your breath, shaking your fist out at the dumb move.

The man stumbled back, grunting and remained upright, fingers slick with bright red blood as he clutched at his nose. The unexpectedly familiar face made you take a step back. No way. It was the guy from the dockyards. What the hell was he doing here?! Uncertainty flooded you as you expected the water monster to surface, your voice of reason gloating from the recess of your mind at your nice, big mistake. 

Tentatively, you raised your hands in a useless gesture and moved back slowly.  “Whoa there fellas,” you started, knowing there was no way you could get out of this. “Let’s not be too rash,” you reasoned before spinning around to bolt, only to come face to face with the handsy boozehound. You were going to have a long talk with yourself if you survived this.

You ducked the large fist sailing at your head, bending at the knees in a clumsy stumble and caught yourself on the table, fingers gracing the edge of the serving plate and awkwardly met the gaze of the drunkard’s friend. His gaze shifted from you and you swung the plate, catching the converging drunk in the face with the flat side, the metal ringing like a gong as it connected. The upheaval brought the immediate attention from the neighboring tables as conversations died down. More movement to your right startled you and you hurled the platter at the dockyard goon, catching him in the face again in the split second decision.

Charlotte’s voice rang out, calling your name, and you turned just in time to catch a wild punch to your face. Tumbling backwards, the table’s biting edge the only thing keeping you on your feet as your vision blurred. You collided hard, rattling silverware and plates and stared at the inebriated friend in shock. You tasted metal and copper and pain arched hotly across your jaw and cheek in pulsing waves. Now you’d really done it.

The neighboring table’s occupants surged upward in a scramble to move out of the way. A woman in a fancy gown shrieked unnecessarily. Her partner hauled her away as you reached blindly behind you, knocking over a glass of scotch in search of anything useful. You gripped the fat neck of an overturned bottle and chucked it at the ballsy guy who sucker punched you. You ducked again, catching an overturned chair’s leg with the heel of your shoe to flip it and heaved it in a tumbling roll to put something between you and everyone else.

The ridiculousness of the moment caught up to you in the stark reality of a handgun. The gleam of metal reflected dully in the low lighting and it was enough for a single person to bring attention to it. Someone screamed and the low, sultry jazz score in the background stuttered to a stop as the weapon steadily leveled with you. The sudden rush of the adrenaline-fueled fight left you in a chilling lurch and you felt the prickles of fear crawl down your neck.

“I think that’s enough of that.” The aura of summon magic was sharp and bitter, the air tasting of ozone before it gave way to something a little less stinging. Your next breath was heavy and thick and the softest hue of blue passed over you. It lingered briefly, threatening to bring the building down around you before the audible catch made you jump. The gun was ripped violently from the man’s hand by an invisible force, the confusion barely having the time to register before it slammed him face first into the floor.

You registered a presence behind you and spun sharply only to be pressed against a hard surface softened a layer of clothing. A strong, boney arm encircled your shoulders, and G embraced you tightly, trapping you against his chest. You shoved at him, catching the faintest trace of the cologne he wore overshadowed by the smell of him. Fine china, bricks, earthy, you brain couldn’t decipher what exactly it was only that you needed to be away from it, right this moment. You grabbed at his coat, intending to push yourself away and gave one good struggle against the strong grip before the world ceased.

There was no way to describe the feeling of not existing, no words that could touch the winter bleakness that crept from the edges of your vision and stole your heartbeat. You were here and back, all within a blink and the elegant carpet beneath your feet gave way to the rocky, uneven alleyway behind the restaurant. A flickering streetlight bathed you in a harsh light and water trickled underfoot from the remnants of an old, rusted pipe that ran the length of the opposite building. How many breaks did you spend back here with the cooks and busboys, bumming cigarettes off each other while you ignored the stench of fermenting overpriced garbage?

G patted your shoulder, indicating it was safe to step away from him. “Now if we-”

You shoved him, reeling away and immediately vomited behind the closest trash can. Hunched over, you closed your eyes against the dizzying return and the sour, cloying taste in your mouth. When did you eat pineapple?

“Oh, that’s right.” The Monster examined his hand, brushing off imaginary dirt from the front of his jacket. “I always forget humans can’t handle that.”  

You eyed him and his smug ass darkly, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and turned to head back, making your way determinedly toward the loading dock.

“Where are you going?”

“Back inside,” you growled over your shoulder and came up short when G stepped in front of you. You glanced back to where you thought he’d been before meeting him with a scowl, sidestepped him and continued on.

“Are you daft, kiddo? Or just a glutton for punishment?” He made no move to stop you the second time.

“My friend was in there.”

“The waitress?”

“Yes!”

“She’s fine.”

Your whirled around to glare back at the monster and kept walking backwards. “How do you know?”

“While you were getting into trouble, I escorted that sweet, kitten away.”

The tension from your brow faded before you slumped your shoulders and slowed to a halt. Charlotte’s safety had been your prime concern, the second had been what awful magic G had used on you. There was no shaking whatever happened off, the lingering tendrils of magic were going to stick with you for a while. You refrained from touching your face, mindful of the hot tightness you felt just under your eye. That would bruise like hell tomorrow. At least you hadn’t lost any teeth though a few ached and the inside of your mouth was raw. You skirt your tongue along the edge of your bottom lip and it stung sharply.

Unconsciously, you pushed back your hair and smoothed down the ragged ends that had escaped your hair tie. Third thing was what all happened. The boozy men were easy to explain. “Did you see who that guy was?”

“The drunk?” G gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. None of them were hardly worth the attention. He’d been tolerant of your attitude, more amused than upset and enjoyed your strong gait as you walked away only to head smack into new trouble. He wondered if you did that a lot.  “No, not really.” 

“No,” you returned, frustration edging into your voice. “The other guy! The one with, with the gun. He was one of the goons from the dockyard.” You exhaled, taking a moment to steady yourself. “They were after your brother.” 

The humming of the overhead light drew your attention as it grew loud enough to become a low droning noise. A power surged caused it to flicker heavily, more dark than light as a heaviness settled around the alleyway. You smelled it again, that odd sharpness that bit at your senses, reminding you of the local pool you’d pass as a kid during the summers. The alley entryway behind G darkened as a big rig drove past, blurring the cartoony cow along the white side and red lights dashed by before everything converged into an obscure shadow, illuminated by an auriferous glow that spilled from G’s socket.

The silent crackle of magic made you step back, the intenseness of it doubling as shadows deepened around the still monster, pulling at his clothing. It was a trick of the eye; you’d just been slugged in the face, explaining away the shadows that converged into a shape behind him. Still, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

G blinked, and the alleyway flickered once before returning to normal. The grim carved line of his mouth tilted up at the corners and he gave a soft, mirthless huff. The strong line of his shoulders dropped, and he reached for his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, love. I’ll take it from here.”

The entirely too casual assurance gave you pause but before you could speak, the back door swung open banging heavily on its jam. Charlotte emerged, your name echoing before she caught sight of you. The instant relief flooded her pinched gaze, and she dashed down the stairs with more grace than you could ever muster. She nearly collided with you, stopping just short and you reached a hand out anyway for support. She gripped it, holding it tightly as she dragged it to her chest.

“Are you okay?” She breathed, running fingers over your sore knuckles as she looked you over. It was endearing; if a little annoying, but her concern was genuine.

“I’m fine.” Best to keep it simple and you ducked out of her reach as she attempted to look at your busted lip. The whole side of your face hurt and the last dredge of adrenaline made everything throb painfully. “Did I get you in trouble?”

“No.” Charlotte caught her bottom lip, smudging the ruby lipstick. “Yes, I mean, it’s fine. But, Dumser saw everything.”

You groaned and slipped your hand from her trembling ones. Just what you needed. Running the hand across your face, you dragged it through the bangs of your hair and tugged in disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, guilt ebbing into her voice. “He fired you.”

“My fault,” you muttered and softly patted her on the shoulder. You were never good at comforting, especially in front of others and your gaze slid sideways to catch G watching you two with a quiet, contemplative expression.

Charlotte followed your stare and stiffened before exhaling into a smile. “Thank you so much for helping my friend.”

 G shrugged and said nothing.

“My things?” you said, knowing your coat was the only thing you had of value in the restaurant. Hands moved to your waist to untie the strings of the apron. Guess you wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

“Maybe it’s best you don’t come back in. It’s chaos right now.” The skeleton monster had been kind enough to steer her away from the fight, despite being about two seconds away from tossing a glass at the jerk who punched you. G had led her straight to the bar where Zalo watched quietly, a rag in hand. He twisted it until it creaked under the strain and allowed Charlotte slipped behind the bar with him. “I’ll bring your coat home.”

“Thanks.” Wadding up the apron, you passed it to your roommate. “You better get back inside before Dumser catches you.” You held on, making sure Charlotte lingered a moment and she gave a curious raise of her brows at your furrowed brow. “Are you going to be okay?”

She straightened and tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder to prove how cool she was. “Nothing lil ol’ me can’t handle. It’s all eggs in the coffee, now.” She threw her arms around you in a tight hug and you awkwardly patted her back until she reluctantly headed inside.

“That was really touching.” G tapped a cigarette against the back of his knuckles and slipped it between his teeth, tucking the filigreed case back into his jacket. He struck a match on the nearby wall, and brought it to the tip before giving it a single wave, extinguishing the match and tossed it over his shoulder. “Almost shed a tear.”

You grumbled a quick, “asshole,” under your breath before slipping past the monster. You’d spent more than enough time being pushed around and goaded, and you were ready to go home and sleep this entire thing off. Just your luck, your bus fare was in your jacket.

“Hey, kid.”

You refrained from snapping back at the call and determinedly quickened your step in your bid for freedom. The more distance you put between you, the better.

“Let me give you a ride, it’s the least I can do.”

You spun around at that. The least he could do? The least?! “You’ve done enough,” you spat, fairly sure he could see the spittle that flew from your mouth. “Thank you. Just, leave me alone!” 

G watched you skulk off, hands shoved in your pockets as you made your way down the alley. Your amusing grumbling fading until you disappeared around the corner and he eased out his breath, smoke curling upward. He arched his cervical spine, hearing the satisfying pop of the vertebrae and the tension that drained from his bones. Knocking ash from his cigarette with a flick of his thumb and let it burn idly as his thoughts drifted. He’d definitely annoyed you enough to heed his alternative, humans were so easy to manipulate and the alleyway stunt would spook you enough to stay away.

He didn’t care for you and his teasing hadn’t been far from the truth. Why Pap was so interested in you seemed like a waste of time. And not even a good time at that. Still, G had been expecting some ditzy number in trouble. Papyrus had a reputation for taking in stragglers and setting them on a better path, not exactly conclusive to the Family business, but you seemed to have a good head on your shoulders. Provoking your loose temper had been entertaining, and you were deceptively adorable when mad. All attitude and no shame with a soul that burned like supernova. You probably weren’t even aware of it. And you hit like a freight train and he could appreciate that. 

Dropping the remains of his cigarette on the ground, G twisted his heel on it and hummed at the cool breeze across his crown. He’d forgotten his hat inside and it’d be a shame to leave it behind. He’d make sure Charlotte was fine, while simultaneously checking her next day off, and take care of a little dockyard business. He expected the guardsmen at the door to have picked the bleeding man off the floor and tossed the lot out back to avoid more of a bigger spectacle. Sadly, that wasn’t the case, and he’d be hard pressed to track down the guy.

G sighed and tucked his hands into his pants pocket. A monster’s work was never done.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan and into the fire. A very cool fire.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Foul language, real life spider mention, mention of injuries of Reader but nothing graphic, bit of blood.

You didn’t go home right away. Instead, you walked the streets of Ebott, arms pulled tightly against your body with hands buried in your pockets for warmth. Your temper kept you comfortable for all of a block before it petered out to a lukewarm annoyance. You had a lot to unpack and think about and while it tempted you to pretend the entire wild night didn’t happen, you still looked over your shoulder to make sure you were alone.

Had any of that truly happened? The aching throb of your face answered with an empathic yes. A lone sigh slipped free without your consent. You didn’t get a single tip out of the whole mess.

Of all the trouble you could have gotten into, why did it have to be with the Mafia? The sour feeling in your stomach hadn’t gone away, even when the vertigo did and you crossed the street against traffic, speeding up when a red Studebaker honked at you. Magic always left you a little queasy and you couldn’t even begin to comprehend what G had done. You were in the Mauve Lagoon one second and then outside the next with your stomach somewhere in the middle.

There were a lot of bad people in Ebott, a lot of scum and waste and terrible individuals all trying to make a living in a city that struggled to thrive. It seemed like the Mafia had always existed in your life, the proverbial big bad guy that lurked in the background and loomed in the shadows. They were one of many, but the biggest influence that tried to shape the surrounding city. The Mannino Crime Family, Dreamuurr Clan, Muffet’s Gang, they were all figureheads and the backbone of anything and everything corrupt. From the bigwigs of the Capital to providing protection for every little mom and pop shop. Your own apartment wasn’t safe from collection, but you did your absolute damndest to stay out of trouble. You promised you would.

The urge to yank at your hair outweighed your need to stay warm and the sharp little tugs at your scalp helped. Scrubbing your hands through your shaggy locks, rubber band and several strands of hair long since torn out, you only just resisted sighing again. All that careful work, finding a decent job, fighting for a space you could temporarily call home, keeping your head down and ignoring the awfulness of the world around you. You tried, though, on that last one. You really did.

The cold bite of the night air made you stop in the doorway of a bar, catching the flow of warm air as people walked in and out. Pressing yourself to the edge of the entryway, people filed past you and huddled in their warm coats and hats.  How could you have attracted the attention of a Mafia Family? What did you do in your life to deserve this? You paid your dues, wasn’t that enough? A bouncer eyed you and you beat a hasty retreat out to the sidewalk, jostling for a space until you cleared the bar scene. It never felt like enough.

Your thoughts kept you wandering, drifting back to familiar areas you knew were safe to walk alone, diverting from the local park no matter how tempting it was to sit on the playground swings. That was just asking for trouble. Walking kept you warm and occupied, thoughts all too easily straying and when the first morning ray crested over the buildings, you hadn’t realized how sore your feet were or how much your shoulders ached from the cold. It was time to face the inevitable and head home. You’d crash for a few hours before deciding what to do next, possibly look for a job in the paper before your roommates got ahold of it. You groaned, knowing you still had stuff to do when you got home.

Crossing the next street, this time with the traffic, you made your way back the housing district, picking your way through side streets. Beautiful little houses butted up against one another with high stoops gave way to apartment complexes and the further you walked, the more rundown the area became. You lived in a decent enough neighborhood; it was mostly low-income families, which made it the perfect place. Your apartment was at the end of the street, adjacent to a barber shop and a small restaurant that made the best damn pizza you’d ever had. 

Climbing up the front stairs, you slipped inside the main lobby, shoes catching on the loose tile work. You were sure at one point; the lobby had been pristine and new with a decorative motif befitting a different class. Now the walls were yellowed with age and smoke, wallpaper peeling along the corners with missing glass sconces that were worth something back in the day. You checked the wall of mail slots, finding nothing in yours and took to the stairwell, taking two at a time to the second floor and walked quietly down the long narrow hallway. It was still early morning and while not everyone in your apartment building was awake; you didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention.

Taping your apartment number, you shoved against the broadside of the door as you unlocked it, shouldering it open where it caught on the edges of the crooked frame. A figure loomed in the entryway and you didn’t bat an eye at your orange feline roommate as he looked you over with a slow, disinterested blink and slipped his coat on. His tail gave a languid flick as he bent to tie his boot.

“Though you and Charlotte were working?”

“… I got fired.” You replied, deciding it was best to keep it simple.

“Again?”

You fixed him with a grating look and to his credit he didn’t flinch. Merely moved to the side to let you pass as you traipsed down the short hall toward the kitchen. Your stomach was starting to growl and if you were lucky, the icebox would have some leftover chips to ease the puffiness of your split lip. The price of ice had gone up, and no one had wanted to spend money on frozen water. Nothing you could do about the aches and pains but will them away with a shot of cheap rum your roommates kept in the pantry for special occasions. They wouldn’t mind. Much.

“Hey, wait,” you turned, back to the living room. “Is that burger joint you’re working for looking for help?”

“Nah, but I’ll ask, anyway. People always dropping like flies, slaving away into nothing, wasting their life.” He sighed dejectedly. “I’m so old.”

“I’m older than you.”

The feline monster gave you a sad, pitying look and patted you on the shoulder. “Anyways, there’s someone here to see you.” He tapped the toe of his boot, knocking it back to fit his pawed foot better and stared at the split seam of his insole as if his very world was slowly crumbling down around him and exhaled quietly.

“What?” You stopped mid turn turned to look over your shoulder, confusion already knitting your brow. “Who?”

“Me.”

The familiar voice made your whirl around at the skeletal monster who rose from the small couch in your living room. He smiled brightly, fingers loosely folded at his waist.

“Papyrus?!” You blurted out. “What the hell?” You turned back to your roommate who ignored the grace of looking away, accepting your reaction with little more than a tired look. “Why did you let him, Ren?”

“He was…” He shrugged passively. “very persuasive.”

____________________

 

The resounding knock echoed over the flushing toilet and Ren looked up from fixing his thinning belt and leaned backwards to glance out the small bathroom toward the front door. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, like ever, and you and Charlotte wouldn’t be back for a couple more hours. No one important then. He went back to his business, staring at the tired lines beneath his eyes and how they twitched obscenely when the knocking started again with a little more force. Grumbling, Ren grabbed his hat and meandered to the front door, opening it with several sharp tugs and a grunt and came face to chest with a very tall skeletal monster.

Tipping his head up, his gaze traveled up the dark, herringbone waistcoat to the expertly tied black and crimson stripped tie nestled against a crisp, white spearpoint shirt. The sleek, black lapel jacket was just the icing on the rich cake who was pointedly looking at him with a charming smile to tie it all together.

Ren slumped a little, pointed ears drooping. “What.”

Unperturbed by the flat statement, the monster’s smile grew sunnier. “Good morning, my fine sir. May I speak with the human of this dwelling? I wish to talk about a very important business opportunity.”

“They don’t want to buy nothing.”

“Oh, I’m not selling anything.” The skeleton was quick to disarm the refusal. “Please, may I come in? I’m certain once they set eyes upon my dashingly handsome facade, they shall be most ecstatic.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than my human?” Papyrus tapped a thoughtful phalange to his teeth. “Um, the angry one?”

Ren debated asking to clarify again, but really, there wasn’t a point. “… Yeah, sure, come in.” He stepped to the side. “You can wait in their bedroom.”

“B-bedroom?” The monster followed the pointed claw to the small couch tucked between two mismatching end tables, a thinning checkered afghan toss over the back. He noted a plain, brown suitcase tucked under the couch and a sad, flat pillow tossed in the corner of the small sitting area. 

____________________

 

You stared at Ren in disbelief, dropping the hand that was heading to your forehead to either rub or smack it, you weren’t entirely sure. Both felt right. The apathetic cat honestly let an absolute stranger into the apartment without so much as a question and was content to leave him alone for however long you were originally going to be gone. Charlotte and you would have another roommate intervention sit down and go over some important ground rules.

Glancing at Papyrus who smiled warmly back at you, you decided to get Ren out of there for now and deal with him later. Luckily, the monster was ahead of you.

“Welp, I’m going to work buddy.” Dropping the wrinkled fry cook hat atop of his head, he slipped out the door without so much as a care and meandered down the hallway, long tail swishing behind him.

Roommate safely gone, you rested a hand on the door, midway to closing it and eyed Papyrus openly. “Look,” you started, a careful compromise forming. “Ren’s got nothing to do with what happened between us.”

There was no missing the cautious stance or the way you shifted your weight as if you were expecting to bolt out the door at any moment. Papyrus had seen the look too many times and tried to not to sigh dejectedly, instead reinforcing his previous happiness at seeing you with a broad grin. It seemed the jig was up before it began and he wondered how you could have known. “I didn’t come here to harm you, human. Please.” He raised a hand to beckon you back into the apartment, making sure he didn’t move into the hall to give you room to make a choice. It would do neither any good if he spooked you further.

Your hand on the door tightened briefly before moving to shut it with a hard shove and edged sideways, your gaze never leaving his as you squared your shoulders. “Then what do you want?”

“To talk.”

You gave an ambiguous grunt and let the silence stretch between you as you tried to decipher what alterative motive the skeleton might have. Papyrus kept his posture open and nonthreatening, hands open and empty at his sides. “I guess the polite thing to do is offer you a drink.” Dragging the heel of your hand across your mouth, you winced at the forgotten sting of your split lip. “You want something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Papyrus took a step back further into the living room as you moved past him, heading for the open doorway to the left where the small kitchen alcove was. He remained put, listening to you rummage around, opening and closing a cabinet with a bang and the rush of water. You reappeared with a chunk of ice in a rag to hold to your mouth and a small, blue watering can in your other hand.

“You look a little more…” Papyrus frowned. “Bruised since the last time we met.”

“Yeah, had a rough day at work.”

“I’m sorry.”

The simple apology made you shrug halfheartedly. What could you say? You moved past him to the sliding glass door hidden behind the sheer curtain beside the couch and stepped out onto a balcony. The morning chill lingered despite the time. The metal balcony creaked slightly as you moved around. There wasn’t much room on the terrace, but your roommates had made due with two chairs and a small end table shoved between them. Along the balcony’s walls were a few planter boxes filled with wilted flowers and a few unidentifiable plants.  Below it were a few pots in various sizes housing the same menagerie of odds and ends. Plucking a few wilted leaves from the boxes, you let them fall, slipping through the metal grated floor and clicked your tongue at your poppies.

“You have a, er, lovely garden.” Papyrus offered, stepping onto the balcony with you.

“More like a weed patch. Can’t get anything to grow properly,” you grumbled. Raising your head to look up at the sliver of overcast sky between crowded building tops, you shifted pots over to a sunny patch. “Too congested in the city, not enough light.” Dead heading a couple more flowers, you watered your sad patch of green. “They’d do better in the country.” Everything would do better there. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

“I…” Papyrus drifted off, studying the alleyway your balcony overlooked and the plain brick wall of the building across it. “Wanted to see how you were. And you are quite hard to track down.”

“Really? I heard the opposite just earlier today.”

“Oh?”

You glanced at Pap. He looked genuinely interested in you continuing and you’d figure you’d humor him. “Yeah, from a real boozehound of a monster, with a smarmy attitude too. Sort of full of himself.”

“Ah,” Papyrus replied, delightfully. “You’ve met my brother already. Charming, isn’t he?” That explained your cagey reaction to him showing up. No doubt his brother had spoke of the Family if briefly.

“… Yeah. Charming.” G was the furthest thing from charming and the thought of him stoked your annoyance back to life. Jerking back the watering can to avoid drowning your marigolds, you moved on to your actual garden part.

“Oh dear,” he continued, giving a slow shake of his head and a resigned sigh. “What did he do now? Please, do not spare me any ill details.  I assure you he will thoroughly chastised.”

A brief wave over your shoulder was all you gave, pressing the melting ice to your mouth as you plucked more dead leaves, clearing a potted plant that was trying to become tomatoes with little success. Setting the rag down to free your hands, you tied a vine higher, hoping the sun would encourage it to grow upward. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you mirrored Charlotte’s sentiment and hoped she had a fairer night. 

Straightening, your lower back gave a twinge of pain and you set your hands on your hips to survey your work. Not bad. You really had to stop neglecting these babies; you were probably going to lose your wilted poppies. A part of you fussed over the waste of money on them, you certainly couldn’t eat them like your very sad vegetables clinging to life. The vibrant orange hue of them were a startling contrast to the drabness of your balcony and all the other matching balconies, some toting laundry lines with faded linens and sullen overalls. You rather liked the color, the hue matching the intensity of Papyrus’ magic he so expertly welded on the dockyards.

“So, you found me, all right.” Leaning against the railing, you folded your arms loosely. Your face was starting to throb quietly, wanting to steal your attention and you ignored it in favor of giving your guest your undivided one. “You put an awful lot of work into finding me just to see if I was okay.” Worrying the edge of your bottom lip, you poked at the split with your tongue. “G told me about where you come from.”

“Oh.” Papyrus wilted a little, dropping his shoulders and gaze. “Does that bother you?”

“Honestly?” He nodded an eager approval and you considered your words carefully. Unfolding your arms to rest hands on the railing, fingertips grazed the rusted underside, catching on jagged edges. “A little. Your family, Papyrus. Jesus,” you breathed, incredulously. “You’re the son of a Don, what on _earth_ are you doing talking to me? Do you know the kind of trouble that attracts?” You scrubbed a hand through your hair as you exhaled, staring at the polished shine of the Monster’s shoes as they shifted along the grating. “I mean, did anyone recognize you?”

Papyrus pressed a hand to his chest. “I assure you no one saw me. I may be quite tall and dashing, nyehehe!” You reflexively smiled at the sweet laughter, barely holding back the flinch when it resounded around the open air. “But I am quite the cunning individual. I spoke only with your roommate.” He hesitated. “Will he say anything?”

“Ren? Nah, he’s a good kid, I don’t think he recognized you either and even if he did, he’s a pretty sullen fella. He doesn’t talk to anyone.” Talking with Papyrus was so easy, a warm cadence that seemed to shine from within the first moment you met him. It was almost easy to not believe the Monster before was a mobster. “I thought you were a lawyer.”

“Please, I’m not that cruel,” Papyrus joked before his grin dimmed. “I’m sorry to have put you out.”

You mulled over the apology, finding nothing hidden behind the genuinely of it, which only made you feel more wary. “I’ll forgive y if you don’t make it a habit.” The blush of the faintest orange graced the monster’s cheekbones but you wouldn’t let it sway you. “Was that really why you came to see me?”

“Yes,” he started, “And no. I have to say you’re taking this quite well.”

Were you? It certainly felt like things had been spiraling out of your control for a while. Pretending things didn’t happen could only selfishly get you so far. No good came out of ignoring things. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Really?” Papyrus rubbed his chin thoughtfully and his smile returned ten fold. “Thank you for helping me. I…” the odd hesitance again made you meet his gaze briefly before drawing back to the flooring. He looked like he wanted to say something more and took a step forward.

“Wait!”

The startled jerk of the monster stopping full tilt made the balcony tremble and you missed the flair of magic in his socket when you crouched down and held out a brown leaf to gather a spider crawling along the floor. “You almost stepped on her,” you muttered, scooping the arachnid up and deposited them into one of your potted vegetable plants. “There you go, ol’ girl.” If you were lucky, she’d make a home and help combat against the aphids.

Twirling the leaf, you dropped it to let it flutter through the grating and caught Papyrus staring amusedly at you. “What?” You didn’t mean to sound that defensive.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, though his sockets shifted upwards into a smile.

“What time is it?”

He made no mention of the sudden change of topics and dutifully pulled a pocket watch from the breast pocket of his jacket. The chain it hung on was intricately woven from delicate threads to look as if it was plaited and while you didn’t notice any filigree designs, the unblemished surface of the watch looked far too perfect to be made of a simple metal. Papyrus noted the time and you grunted, moving to stand. It was still a little early, but better to get started now then later.

“I gotta get back to work.”

“I thought you were fired?” Pap ducked his head, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.” He stepped aside to let you back through the doorway after you gathered the watering can and rag and trailed to the living room as you kept on to the kitchen. “The dockyards?”

You shook your head. “I got more than one job,” you returned wiry, dropping both rag and can into the sink and set to washing your hands. Before you could rethink it, you offered, “You’re welcome to tag along, but just know I’m putting you to work.” Wiping your hands on the tea towel, you dropped it on the counter and came back to Papyrus staring down at the threadbare couch you’d called home for the last eight months. Most of your belongings fit into the suitcase underneath it and Charlotte had been nice and shared her closet space where the rest of your things were. This was probably the longest you had stayed at any one place and it felt nice if a little restrictive.

Papyrus snapped his head up as if you’d caught him looking at something he shouldn’t. “This is,” he gestured toward the couch, asking tentatively. “your bedroom?”

You shrugged unashamed. “All I need is a clean place to rest my head. And, it’s cheaper than renting a room.” You grinned, “Don’t even have to make the bed. It’s a lot more comfortable than it looks.” You could definitely attest to that, knowing the couch intimately enough to find the right spot to sink in and pass out. Papyrus didn’t look as reassured as he went back to staring at it and politely said nothing more.

“Ready to work?”

He gave a resolute nod of his head and you weren’t sure when you had relaxed in his presence, but Papyrus had a stark different aura about him than his brother. It was soothing and calm, like a gentle balm against the madness that G seemed infused with. His smile was infectious and when it was turned on you, you fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you headed out, locking the door behind you after giving it a few quick shoves to make sure it locked. It was tricky getting it just right, but you’d worked it down to a science. Depositing the key into your pocket, you turned only to have a blur of orange slam into you, knocking you back a step. The small figure, barely reaching your waist stumbled back into Papyrus who reached a hand out to steady the monster child before they were dashing back between you. Grabbing them by the collar, you hauled them back with a grunt.

“Give it back,” you demanded.

“I didn’t take nuthin’!” They struggled, trying to hunker down out of your grasp. Your iron grip didn’t loosen even after the fight wore down. Finally, they dropped their head and their long tail they curled around them unfurled to reveal a leather wallet they had clutched against their chest.

Papyrus’s hands went to the front of his suit, checking his pockets. “Well, I’ll be,” he mused, impressed. 

“Don’t encourage him.” You glared at the child, handing the wallet back to Pap. “What did I telling you about stealing, MK?”

Monster Kid shuffled his bare feet awkwardly, doing everything he could to not met your stern look. He stared at the cobwebs that ran the length of the ceiling, gaze flickering over to the skeletal monster he pegged as an easy mark. Guy was dressed entirely too fancy and nice to belong here, set himself apart from everything else. His stomach gurgled lowly.  “Yeah, but… I’m hungry.”

You relented slightly and scowled as you dug around in your pant’s pocket, ignoring your inner voice of not giving in.  The kid perked up at the jangle of change as you pulled out a few coins. It wasn’t much, but you handed them over to MK. “You don’t take what you don’t earn. Understand?”

“Yeah!” He answered brightly, taking a step away, the tip of his tail clutching the coins tightly only to be hung up by your grip.

“Come by next Saturday and you can help with deliveries.”

“Awww, but-” Whatever excuse he was going to give was silenced by a snap of his mouth as your renewed glare. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to see your mug for at least a week. Got it?” You let go of his shirt but not before straightening it and adjusted the thin suspenders that hung off narrow shoulders, making sure they didn’t slip.

“Got it. Don’t tell my folks I was here.” MK took off running, disappearing around the corner before the both of you could say more. His footsteps faded down the stairwell until there was the faint bang of the lobby door being shoved open and closing. 

Shaking your head, you headed down the hall the same way the kid had gone before realizing Papyrus wasn’t beside you. Looking over your shoulder, you caught his gaze and the odd look he had when you moved the spider. “You coming or what?”


End file.
